


Achilles in Motion

by pizzaguy



Series: the Shepard Multiverse [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bondage, Edgeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzaguy/pseuds/pizzaguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard goes looking for trouble. And finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achilles in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> A brief warning, before we begin: the following is a work of fiction, and should not under any circumstances be used as a model for any real-life activities. It is intended as entertainment only, and is not by any means a realistic depiction of BDSM encounters. Put simply - don't try this at home, kids.

They meet on Omega.

It’s 2185. Shepard’s not angry, but he’s lost. He felt alone as soon as Alenko turned his back on him on Horizon and he sure as hell feels alone now. The crowd in the nightclub is like an ocean, and Shepard feels as though he’s drowning in it. He’s struggling, reaching out blindly in the hope of finding dry land, and instead -

\- instead someone catches him and brings him up for air.

'You,' says the someone. He's got blond hair and blue eyes and this look on his face, wild and vicious, and it almost makes Shepard flinch.

'Aria's looking for you.'

'Did she say why?'

The man shakes his head. ‘Just pointed you out. I don’t even know who the fuck you are.’

That was a first. ‘Shepard,’ says Shepard, extending a hand.

'De Visser,' the man replies, and doesn't accept it.

 

\--

 

Shepard speaks to Aria. When they’re done - when she’s done with him - de Visser is still there, leaning against the door frame with the same animal look on his face. 'Are we done here?' he drawls. He has an accent that Shepard can't quite place.

Shepard frowns. ‘We?’

De Visser crosses his arms over his chest. ‘You’re here alone. You’re not waiting for anyone. You didn’t come to talk to Aria.’ He’s still at the door, but to Shepard he may as well be inches away. With a voice like that, he would always seem uncomfortably close. ‘You came here with the intention of leaving with someone. I figured I’d take you up on that offer.’

'I didn't make an offer.’ Shepard hears the annoyance in his own voice, and wonders what it is about this man that makes him lose control when he’s worked so hard to make sure he never does.

De Visser is smirking, and advancing on him for real this time. ‘You didn’t say it,’ he explains, ‘but it was there,’ and Shepard would argue but there’s a hand curling around the collar of his shirt and pulling, not with force but with the promise of it, and suddenly the words aren’t there anymore.

'My apartment is in walking distance,' de Visser says, and releases him.

 

\--

 

He’s not gentle. Shepard didn’t expect him to be. Shit, Shepard didn’t _want_ him to be either.

This man - Adam de Visser, who Shepard’s only just met, who he doesn’t know the first thing about - has Shepard with his back against the wall both literally and figuratively, and there’s a hand at his waist, short nails digging sharply into his skin and it’s the most literal thing he’s ever felt. He submits to it, melting against the cinder block, and a sound slips through his parted lips and it sounds something like ‘please’.

De Visser moves with a kind of animal grace, a sleek lethality that demands attention and terror in equal parts. Shepard moves to touch him, fearless hands on whipcord muscles tensed to retaliate; he fingers the impression of a bio-amp at the junction between his neck and his skull and thinks, deliriously - _god, do I have a type?_ \- and then de Visser’s hands are vice-like around Shepard’s wrists, wrenching them up and slamming them into the wall beside him with all the mercy of a crucifixion, and that’s what it must look like -(and Shepard dimly realises, _he’s not tall enough to hold them above my head, not even close_ )- and his mouth is on Shepard’s neck, all teeth and hot breath and a tongue that traces the faint blue of his jugular with a reverence that is honestly scary.

He shivers. He’s sure de Visser notices, and he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t give a shit.

Even with his hands out of the equation, de Visser is all over him, a mess of hot kisses and bites and grinds of the hips and _god_ , he needs to unstick himself from this wall. He needs freedom, if only for a moment; needs to rid himself of his jeans, ASAP, needs friction and leverage and. He. _Needs._

And de Visser gives, in increments. He releases Shepard’s hands, lets him unzip his jeans and free himself from his underwear before he seizes him by the wrists again and hisses:

'On your knees, soldier.'

Later, Shepard will wonder when exactly he let it slip that he was Alliance, and come to the conclusion that he didn’t. Now, though, he gets to work on the other man’s jeans ( _mission parameters have changed_ , he thinks, giddily. _Hands have been compromised_ ), catching the zipper pull between his teeth and easing it down with the kind of efficiency that could only come from practice. De Visser, fortunately, hasn’t bothered with underwear.

Less fortunate is the way his erection hits Shepard’s face, smearing precome across his cheek indelicately.

Shepard lets a soft ‘oh’ escape his lips before he puts them to better use. He hears a sharp intake of breath from de Visser, and feels victory coil pleasant and warm at the pit of his stomach. _Score one for Shepard, score_... Shit, he isn’t counting. He swirls his tongue languidly around the head of the other man’s cock; tastes salt and skin and the chemical sharpness of lye soap. De Visser’s hand is rigid on the back of his skull, pushing him slowly but intently down. Shepard resists, drawing his head back teasingly, and earns a snarl and a ruthless forward thrust that makes his eyes water. He chokes, pulling back and blinking rapidly, and de Visser just _laughs_.

'You're crazy,' Shepard gasps, breathing in air in frantic gulps.

'You like it,' de Visser counters, cold blue eyes alight with something secret and vicious.

Shepard does. He’s hard, exposed to the cool artificial air, and he wants so badly to touch himself. His hands are free, but he knows, just knows, that moving them will prompt the return of that vicelike grip on his wrists. He’s strong enough to pull himself free, and has been all along, but he keeps thinking of the imprint of the bio-amp on the nape of de Visser’s neck. _He’d use it_ , Shepard thinks. _Pin me to the wall or the bed or the ceiling with his mind._ Competent as he may be, that telltale blue pulse, the energy crackle and the smell like ozone, that’s always scared the shit out of him. It scares him on de Visser, and years ago it scared him on Kaidan, too, to look over and see him glowing with incomprehensible power and -

\- _god_ , he thinks, _is that what this is about?_

He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

He snaps out of it, finding (much to his dismay) that he’d brought his thighs up and together on either side of his dick, desperate for some kind - any kind - of contact.

'Christ, Shepard,' de Visser says. His voice is quiet, somehow inflected with derision and adoration at the same time. 'You're really something else.' There's that accent again, unplaceable and a little grating.

Shepard’s motionless again, knees parted once more and cock harder than ever. He’s not sure what to say, so of course, he says something mundane and stupid: ‘Where are you from?’

'Johannesburg,' de Visser says mildly, and hoists Shepard up by his shirt collar.

_And that’s where?_ , Shepard thinks, lying dutifully, unbearably still as de Visser loops his belt around Shepard’s wrists, securing him to the bedframe. _Switzerland? Germany? It sounds German_ , he decides, with a daring glance upward. _And he looks - he looks -_

_Gorgeous. Terrifying_. Shepard can’t choose.

He tugs at the makeshift bonds around his wrists, testing them. He does that, always; checks to make sure he can break loose, to ensure that he is safe.

They don’t yield.

He is not safe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the (tentatively titled) Shepard Multiverse, which is a series of parallel universes wherein different people fill the role of Commander Shepard, which... ultimately is just a way to get characters from different continuities to bang. Yeah. More on that later. Thank you for reading!


End file.
